


Rules of Escalation

by Canon_Is_Relative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e17 Hell House, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Sam Winchester, Prank Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 1x17 “Hell House,” picks up right after Sam pranks the Impala.  It’s Valentine’s day, they’re in a dive bar, and the prank war becomes a game of dares and double-dares with swiftly-mounting stakes.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Man we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not going to start that crap up again.  </i><br/>Start what up?  <br/>That prank stuff. It's stupid, and it always escalates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules of Escalation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozen_delight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozen_delight/gifts).



“I say we find a bar and some beers and leave the legends to the locals.”

Dean was calling it: The case was a bust. Sam’s prank, however, went off without a hitch.

Sam slid into the Impala after Dean managed to get the wipers turned off and the radio tuned to a decent channel at an acceptable volume. ‘Bush league,’ Dean called it, and maybe it was, but that didn’t mean it’d been easy. Dean never left the damn car alone for more than five seconds and finding an acceptably awful station had not been the work of a moment. But really, it was all for the look on Dean’s face when he knew anyone had been messing with his baby. Priceless.

Laughing at Dean was never a safe bet, but Sam couldn’t hold back. He snickered the whole way to the bar and every glance at Dean’s thundercloud expression made him break into full-out laughter again. It had been years. _Years_ since he’d scored a solid retaliation point _._ Way too long. Since he got back with Dean he felt like he was checking things off some mental list, _The first time X in Y years_ , each tick mark bringing them back into some kind of alignment. In the midst of the thrill and uncertainty of re-learning his brother, checking off _Getting one over on Dean_ was an unexpected rush.

But that, of course, meant it was Dean’s turn to serve him one back. When they were kids, that wouldn’t have stopped Sam from flinging himself into the game, always on the lookout for the next prank even before Dean had retaliated for the last one. Dean’s pranks were usually better - that was the problem. Sam had to make up for Dean’s quality with his own quantity, keeping him on his toes. Tailing him everywhere. Not giving him the chance to be alone long enough to put Nair in Sam’s shampoo or an unboiled egg in his lunch bag.

So when they arrived at the bar  — a hole in the wall which was, Sam noted with very little surprise, decked out in wilting pink and white and red decorations — and Dean said he had to take a piss, Sam followed him into the dank restroom. Leave Dean alone in there and Sam was likely to find his cell number scrawled over the stall doors. _For a good time, call…_ For all he knew, Dean carried around a photocopy of his mug shot and a roll of tape. _Have you seen this pervert? Wanted for…_

Sam was still smirking as he ignored the urinals on the opposite wall and set up shop right next to the one Dean had chosen.

“Dude,” Dean said, catching Sam grinning at him, “I will pee on your shoes.”

“Threat or promise?” Sam glanced down, flicked his eyebrows at Dean, and laughed again. A dark flush crept up under Dean’s collar and he glowered at Sam, hurriedly zipping up and moving to the sinks, swearing when the water came out of the tap scalding hot. He wiped his hands on Sam’s shirt but Sam only chucked Dean’s shoulder, feeling magnanimous and maybe still a little drunk on his victory, and said, “I’ll find us a table, you get the beers.”

When Dean took longer with the beer than was strictly necessarily considering the bartender was a dude - good-looking enough Sam supposed, though you’d barely notice what with Dean standing so close to him and comparison being the bitch that she was - Sam started to get nervous and abandoned the table he’d scored to sneak up to the bar. He sidled in next to Dean, making him jump.

“Jesus, man, you startled me.” Dean slid one of the two bottles in front of him over to Sam, who arched an eyebrow and reached across his brother to snag the beer Dean had kept for himself. Sam rolled his eyes, _Really, Dean?_ and took a long swig.

He caught sight of Dean’s shit-eating grin just before he choked.

“I hate you,” Sam spluttered, just barely managing to keep from spraying beer out his nose. Slumped on the stool beside him, Dean was shaking silently, laughing so hard he was crying. “Hot sauce in the beer, Dean? Really?”

“Dude, I am _awesome_ ,” Dean finally gasped, reaching for the untainted bottle. “That totally counts double cuz you knew I was trying to get you and you fell for it anyway. I am a _god_.”

“You are a _jerk_.”

“Thank you, my man,” Dean said to the bartender who’d returned with a glass of water and a fresh beer for Sam, and leaned across the bar to shake hands with the guy who, now that Sam’s eyes had stopped watering, he could see was laughing at him too, like he was in on it. Sam glared at his brother. “What?”

“Seriously, Dean?”

“Seriously, Sam…what?”

“You were over here, what, two minutes? And you conned the bartender into helping you with your stupid prank?”

“Sammy,” Dean signed around the neck of his bottle, weary and put-upon. He swallowed and wiped his lips on his wrist, blinking slowly and turning to look at Sam. “College was supposed to turn you smart, little brother, not fry your noodle. It hurts me how easily you forget that I am a very charming guy. Two minutes are more than enough if you use ‘em right.”

Sam snorted loudly and took a long swallow. “Whatever, man. I hope you buy him dinner, first, is all.”

Dean choked on his beer and ducked his head, but not before Sam got a look at his face. At the something in his eyes, skittish and exposed, that made Sam think of a wild animal caught in the middle of the road. The bartender returned at that moment with a plate of wings that he clattered onto the bar between them. Dean rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe the universe’s ironic sense of timing, and nudged the plate towards Sam.

Sam’s stomach woke up with a howl at the smell — plain, sweet teriyaki; Dean preferred them breaded and spicy — and he dug in.

They ate in silence until a small pile of greasy bones had accumulated on the plate. Licking his fingers, Sam squinted at it, a memory nagging at him. Then he laughed and elbowed Dean. “Dare you to set the chicken grave on fire.”

Dean almost snorted beer out his nose but he pulled out his lighter, looked like he was honestly about to click it on before Sam swatted his hand down, wrestled the lighter from his fingers. Dean was still laughing at him, kind of beaming at him, and when Sam asked, “What?” Dean kicked his ankle, nodding at the pranked beer bottle still sitting between them. “I dare you chug that.”

“What? Why the hell would I do that?” Why, besides that the rules of escalation didn’t require a _why_. Sam had stopped Dean from following through on his dare; if Sam welched on his he’d be the bitch forever. His hand had wrapped around the bottle already, hardwired to obey their old language of dares and rules.  What did his instincts care they should have left this all behind ten years and a hundred pounds ago?

“I double dare you.” Well, that was interesting. A double-dare meant options. A chance for rebuttal.

“What’ll you give me?” Sam held Dean’s eyes as he lifted the bottle to his lips.

“A big old kiss, Sammy,” Dean said in that stupid, unreadable tone of his that never existed before Sam left for Stanford.

Sam narrowed his eyes. A backwards incentive, that’s how Dean always played it. A runaround when he already had Sam strung so tight he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t work out if it was better to walk away or up the stakes. Poker was Dean’s game, after all. Hell. _Sam_ was Dean’s game. He kept his eyes on Dean’s as he let out a long breath, and chugged down the bottle of spicy beer.

Dean gaped at him. Sam wiped his mouth on his sleeve and shrugged, willing his eyes not to spill over again. “It’s not so bad when you’re expecting it.” He gave himself a minute to recover, and then he cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows, challenging and expectant, feeling flushed down to the soles of his feet.

“What?” Dean lifted his chin.

Sam tipped his chin at the empty bottle. “What’ll you give me?”

Dean smirked and lifted his hand for the bartender. “One of your girly holiday specials, please.”

Sam stared at Dean, at a loss, wondering if Dean had maybe just ordered him a hooker, until the bartender returned with something shockingly pink in a sugar-rimmed cocktail glass.

“A drink?” Sam’s eyes leapt from the glass to Dean’s face to the drink menu board above Dean’s head. The _Big Ol’ Kiss_ was the Valentine's Day special. “That’s cheating,” Sam said flatly. “You didn’t say it was a drink.”

“What’d you think I…” Dean trailed off and his eyes went dark. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Come on, Dean, you said—“

“Yeah, well,” Dean cut him off, turning back to the bar to order another beer. “I say lots of dumb things, Sam.”

“No argument there,” Sam grumbled. He fished the toothpick out of the _Kiss_ and pulled off one of the cherries, burst it between his teeth, liquor-soaked and sickly-sweet. “I dare you.”

Dean looked incredulous. “Okay, first of all, no—“

Sam pointed the toothpick at him. “Double dare you.”

“—Second, are you trying to get us run out of town?” Dean swiped the toothpick and sucked the remaining cherry into his mouth. “You do remember we’re in freaking Texas.”

Sam subsided, propping his elbows on the bar. He pushed his consolation prize away, the sight of it jarring against the dark, scarred wood of the bar, and toyed instead with the empty beer bottle, sliding it around in the puddle of its own condensation. He felt like he, too, was hollow and slippery with no kind of grasp on the world around him. He cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t make promises you’re not prepared to keep.”

“Excuse me?”

Sam turned to look his brother square in the eye, watching Dean’s pupils dilate. “You owe me.”

“Sure, yeah, I owe you. Whatever.” Dean tilted the _Kiss_ on its base, gathering sugar from the rim onto his fingers and rubbing it off into the glass, watching it sink slowly to the bottom. He cut his eyes over to Sam before downing the drink in a couple of gulps. “This what you meant by ‘escalates’?”

Sam clenched his jaw and signaled for the bartender. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They slid into the Impala a few beers later. Sam hadn’t even reached for his seat belt before his brother was tugging him across the bench seat and kissing him hard.

Sam felt five dull points of pain where Dean had one hand on the back of his neck like Sam would seriously fly away if Dean didn’t keep him anchored. There was nothing gentle about the kiss, no finesse in the way Dean’s lips were smashed against his, Sam’s mouth so dry that the hint of Dean’s tongue felt like a mirage; desperately desired and gone when he blinked. They broke apart quickly, breathing hard. Dean’s eyes were wide open and Sam licked his lips, tasting cherries. He huffed a soft laugh and Dean cocked his head, but didn’t look away.

Sam shook his head, his chest feeling like it was going to shatter open from holding back the crazy laughter that wanted to break free, and strapped himself in.

Dean let out a breath like he’d been punched in the gut and slumped in his seat. Then he reached forward and turned the key. The Impala came to life with an indignant roar and Dean stroked the steering wheel gently, murmuring, “Don’t be jealous, baby, you’re still my best girl.” Sam twisted in his seat to punch Dean hard on the shoulder. “Ow! Dude!”

They watched each other until Sam rolled his eyes and faced forward again. “Just drive.”

“So impatient,” Dean muttered as he threw the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot, heading for the motel.

Sam wet his finger and drew another invisible tick mark in the air before folding his hands behind his neck.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Laugh it up, Fuzzball. You’ll get yours.”

Sam bumped Dean’s knee with his own, waited for his brother to look over at him before asking, “Threat or promise?”

"Oh," Dean’s grin flashed in the dark. “That is definitely a promise.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, frozen_delight! Hey! This bumps up my AO3 stats, I now have equal numbers of SH and SPN fic! Happy your-birthday to me! :-P
> 
>  


End file.
